


Sinister Dreams

by LaDuchessa21



Category: Monster Blood Tattoo Series - D. M. Cornish
Genre: Extreme Pain, F/F, F/M, change in setting, hurt Europe, tense character interaction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-03-01 02:19:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2755913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaDuchessa21/pseuds/LaDuchessa21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Europe goes to Sinister and nothing is quite the same upon her return home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sinister Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own the Original Characters of this work, they are all D.M. Cornish's characters.  
> Thanks to Houlihiggs for beta reading this fic!!!

The bed rocked gently back and forth, only jostling the body within the makeshift cot. She could feel a cool hand resting on her fevered forehead and a small sigh escape worried lips. A dim lantern cast a dim light over Madigan’s lips puckered in concern, forcing the diamond spoor to warp. She knows Madigan could not help but worry that her body would stop moving before they reached Sinister. A small whimper escaped from her mouth. Then, the darkness blots out her vision once again. 

The darkness clouds her mind. But then, there is the bouncing of a carriage.

Soon the smell of bitter chemicals and the chill of cold are paired with the voice of a dry old man. The surgeon, it was his voice sending crackles along her spine. Candlelight bathes the scalpels in eerie gleam, their blades glowing as if hot from the flames. She tilts her head and glances at her abdomen as a red line soaks her shirt. She is fading fast, and the surgeon rushes in. Her head lolls in her weakened state and he props her head up; she is now unconscious. Dr. Six adjust her body on the operating table. After checking her pulse, he rushes into the adjoining waiting room.  
Dr. Six cannot help but need aid, so he rushes into the next room. Lady Madigan is sitting in a chair ramrod straight, but her eyes were closing in complete exhaustion.  
“Where is your f-f-factotum my Lady?” he asks quickly.  
“He is out getting supplies for my next dose of treacle. I was running low from the days of preparing it for two” she answered. “In her weakened state, I gave her more than myself, and now I pay for it. I am sorry if I fell asleep on you doctor.”  
“We must summon him q-q-quickly” he stammered as he ran to his small kitchen. The Marchess’ face fell in grief at his words. “S-s-she is bleeding out rather r-r-rapidly and once I s-s-staunch the wound I will n-n-need to give her another d-d-dose.”  
Dr. Six ran around mixing the ingredients and flew out the door with bindings flying behind him like coattails. Upon his return, the woman was laying with her arm thrown to the side, her hand clenching into a ball and then unclenching moments later. The blood loss must be excruciating, but her stubborn resolve would not let her fade again. Her eyes fluttered open as he approached with the bandages, and a groan of pain escaped her lips as he applied pressure. Dr. Six applied pressure and slowly stitched the flayed flesh back together. Finally, she would be whole once more, but she needed the treacle. The doors of the operating room flew open as the woman in grey stormed in at the sound of the cry. Threedice held the treacle and accompanied his mistress as she approach the frail body on the table. Madigan grasps her hand, but her vision dims; the darkness claims her before the Lady’s words meet her ears.

She tilted her head to the side as the sound of the ocean awakens her once more. Madigan’s hand is holding her own, tightly as if she would never let go. When she opens her eyes, Madigan’s brunette locks are lying inches away from her face, and the Marchess is breathing unsteadily in a fitful sleep. She makes to move hair away from Madigan’s face, but the simple movement causes sharp, agonizing pain in her abdomen. A gasp of pain climbs up her throat and she cannot hold it back. Madigan stirs at the sound and jumps up to examine her for any further injuries.  
“Sister, are you in pain? Do you need anythi…” she stopped. A flash of pain stopped Madigan and caused her to lean further over the bed to look at its occupant. The big, pale blue eyes staring into the drowsy hazel ones looking for any sign of hidden pain. 

The woman in the bed moved her lips, but only a raspy croak came out. Madigan leaned closer, her eyes still searching the hazel ones looking for any sign of pain. The Marchess heard breath rasp inside her throat, and blue eyes widened in alarm. 

“Dear one, don’t speak! I will get you some water.” Madigan moved over to retrieve the glass of water resting on the table. “Do not try to speak. Dr. Six said that you need to be careful before you speak because you have not spoken since before the surgery,” the Marchess said as she returned to the bedside.  
As the water was placed into the other’s hand, a voice spoke: “I will speak when I feel it necessary.” Silence followed only to be broken by the sound of her greedily gulping down water.

“Easy, please sister. Easy. I do not wish for anything else to go wrong,” Madigan pleaded with the prone woman.  
She was unhappy for the coddling, “How long have I been unconscious?”  
“You have been sleeping since we left Sinster Dear One,” Madigan replied.  
“Well, I feel sleep coming to me again.”  
“Sleep, sister. I will remain by your side” declared Madigan.

As she attempted a reply to Madigan, the darkness claimed her again. 

The feel of soft linens brought her back to consciousness, and the dim candle light made shadows sit upon the wall. The bed was incredibly soft and the magenta covers kept her warm. The sound of a door opening made her eyes snap open completely alert, but her body was too sluggish to move. She was defenseless unless the intruder came upon her and touched her, otherwise she could not arc him sufficiently enough to incapacitate him. She struggles up into a sitting position to get a better view of the doorway. As she sits up, her abdomen contracts in rebellion, but she stifles her cry. A flash of grey is at the door as furious Madigan closes it with barely restrained anger. Her friend is angry, but not at her it would seem. As Madigan’s angry voice fades, the woman slumps into the pillows with exhaustion and slowly drifts off into sleep.

The darkness does not claim her because she goes willingly this time.

She awakens to morning light flooding her maroon walls. The doors to her boudoir open with a slight click and a cool breeze accompanies the grey dress into the room. Madigan’s blue eyes light up with happiness at the sight of her sitting up in the bed. The Marchess rushes to the side of the bed and leans over to gently hug her friend. Tears drip off of her friend’s face and land on the bed, it is all she can do not to kiss her friends face. The tears eventually stop and a chuckle escapes the Marchess’ lips at the wry face her friend is making.

“Dear one, you gave us another fright.”  
“Madigan, what do you mean to say? I do not like theatrics.”  
“Sister you have been unconscious for three days” Madigan stated. “Oberon has been here every day. We had to contact the Baron and he is waiting right outside in your file.”  
“Help me up!” she yelled.  
Madigan started and grasped her wrist, “You must do this slowly or you will tear your stitching.”

After a grumble of annoyance, the gray frame aided the other woman into a magenta house coat and offered an arm for support. Madigan reached for the door handle, but hesitated and looked at the body resting on her side. 

“The moment I see one bit of pain, I will remove you and put you back in bed. Understand?”  
“I understand young peerlet. Do not order me!” the magenta robe replied.

Once the doors opened, she was confronted with a portrait over the fire. The portrait of a young and vibrant girl fighting the fearsome nickers had vanished. Instead, the boy now glanced at her battered frame, and his face was forever frozen in a pensive manner. If only he were here now, what would he say of her predicament? That young girl was gone just like the painting, and the living image of her was clinging to life as she walked to the sofa. Madigan sat down next to her and gave a warning glance to the other body that was occupying a chair. 

The Baron’s eyes did not twinkle as they gazed upon the battered woman opposite of him. His wig looked skewed and frayed as if he had not slept for days. She saw pain flit across his face when she slowly shifted in her seat. 

“Baron I thank you for your perseverance, but I will heal. There is no use running yourself to the point of exhaustion.” she told him bluntly.  
“I am sorry duchess-daughter! I failed you!” he cried. “I feared you would not live...” his words died in his throat as he choked on them.  
“Is there something you would like to say Baron?” she inquired  
His face blanched and he whispered in a strangled voice, “I sent a missive to your dear mother. The Duchess left Naimes last night. She is on her way.”

Her face heated as blood rushed to the surface of her skin. A myriad of emotions played across her face and she jumped up in a moment. The moment she straightened, her body doubled over and she let out a yowl of pain. Madigan grabbed her in a moment and whispered apologies and fear as she glared outright hatred in the Baron’s direction. The Baron stared in open horror at the pain that he had caused.

“Time for you to leave Baron,” Madigan spat out.  
Not waiting for an answer, Madigan spun her around and ushered her back to the boudoir. After she was tucked safely in bed, the Marchess drew the blinds and begged her to get some rest. The darkness did not descend, she merely drifted off into the throes of a painful sleep. She had been sleeping for a good while, when she slowly came to. The sound of quiet sniffling interrupted to dead silence of the room. She did not open her eyes, but felt the warmth of a candle. The candle was set down on her bedside table, and a trembling hand caressed her face. She opened her eyes, still bleary with sleep, and stared into a mirror of her own eyes. Those deep hazel eyes were swimming with concern and fear, and tears were staining her visitor’s face. 

“I am sorry. Europa, my daughter…I love you.” she cried onto her daughters bed. “Please don’t leave me. You are all I have left...please.”

Before she could reply, the darkness fell across her vision and the world went black.


End file.
